


Elfe

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: A Cinderella Story: Christmas Wish (2019), Alternate Universe, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Identity Reveal, Meet-Cute, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: Working as an elf for the holidays, Marinette flirts with the cute guy playing Santa. With fake ears and a blonde wig, he can't see who she is underneath the outfit—which is good, considering she became a meme a week ago. AU.(adrien's first job lands him a date with a hot elf despite his baggy santa outfit.)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Comments: 20
Kudos: 394





	Elfe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Эльф](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23377930) by [trololonasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trololonasty/pseuds/trololonasty)

> This is based loosely on _A Cinderella Story: A Christmas Wish_. I liked the basic parts of the film (the santa/elf flirting, and the whole meme thing) but the rest of the movie wasn't what I wanted to write.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

It started with a frappé.

As always when they went shopping, Marinette was stuck with the majority of the bags. She had most of them on one shoulder, one more being added to her other hand, and she was trying to balance holding her drink along with the rest of it. It had a straw for her to drink from, at least.

“Stop slouching,” Chloé reprimanded.

“I'm being weighed down by your lack of self-control,” she replied, lifting her arms up and shooting her a pointed look. “Don't you think you could help out a little?”

Chloé brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “No.”

“_No_?” she repeated.

“I'm busy.” Chloé emphasised that with a deliberately long sip of her own drink, staring Marinette in the eyes as she did so.

Marinette sighed. “You're the worst.”

“You love me,” Chloé said.

“I really, really don't,” she corrected. “If you buy any more, you're carrying it yourself.”

Chloé laughed. “Yeah, we'll see.”

As annoying as Chloé was, there was something about her that made her tolerable. But it was when they went shopping together that Marinette started to contemplate her own stupidity; her friend constantly refused to carry bags most of the time, and it seemed the only redeeming part was that she didn't always shop for herself.

Chloé liked to splurge on things she liked—and then she gave them things to the people she liked.

She just wasn't going to carry them.

Marinette was pretty sure she was carrying her own Christmas presents.

“Look at that dog,” Chloé said, reaching out and touching her shoulder, excitement clear in her voice as gestured wildly across the street.

Marinette almost burst out laughing. “It's—”

“Amazing,” Chloé complimented, clearly appreciating the ostentatious outfit that it was dressed up in.

And as Chloé fumbled for her phone, getting it out and quickly opening the camera, Marinette was tugged across the road to get closer—probably just for a better look. For as confident as Chloé seemed, she wasn't very keen on talking to strangers.

Chloé quietly exclaimed, “He even has a _hat_.”

The pavement was uneven.

But rather than take a picture of the dog, Chloé seemed determined to try and get a video showing all sides of the costume.

It was cold, three weeks until Christmas, but Chloé had insisted that they needed to go out. It was only with the bribe of food that Marinette reluctantly agreed. The two of them were wearing gloves and scarves—Chloé with over-the-top earmuffs—but frappés were too good not to get.

So, of course, they had to buy them.

Marinette really wished they hadn't.

It took one wrong step, a stone out of place for her to trip, barely able to regain her balance as she reached out to hold onto Chloé for a sense of stability. And as the phone was turned to face her, that was when someone knocked into her shoulder, causing her to fall backwards instead.

The wetness was the most prominent thing.

That, and she was on her back on the floor, her cold drink all over her coat, scarf, seeping through her clothes to touch her skin, and some splatters had gotten onto her face.

Chloé looked horrified.

Marinette watched as the dog dressed as Santa came over and started licking her.

She was close to crying.

Then, there was someone crouching down beside her, stuttering out, “I am—I'm _so_ sorry! I didn't mean to knock you over or anything, I was rushing and you just happened to be there—”

It was a guy, one with blond-coloured hair sticking out from his knitted hat.

He offered a hand out to help her up.

But before she could take it—only being able to push herself up from the ground a bit, her gloves _wet—_Chloé slapped his hand away, getting between the two of them.

“How about you fuck off?” she suggested instead.

Marinette's eyes still felt hot, vision a bit blurry from her embarrassed tears.

It was a bit of a blur after that.

But eventually, she was in a toilet and trying to get the drink out of her hair. Chloé had tried to get her to go to a hairdresser, insisting that she'd pay for it, but that seemed ridiculous.

That didn't stop Chloé returning some minutes later with a whole new outfit for her.

Sometimes, it was downright frightening how casual Chloé was with her money. She had a lot of it to burn, parents that happily provided her enough to buy anything she wished for, but it seemed to slip her mind that it wasn't normal for everyone else.

Marinette's confusion was mistaken for happiness, somehow.

But rather than spending half an hour trying to get her clothes to a mediocre condition by holding them under a hand-dryer, she reluctantly accepted the new outfit.

“That's not your present, by the way,” Chloé told her.

She felt too frazzled to argue that.

Thankfully, Chloé didn't drag her to any other stores, deciding to call it a day and go home instead. She even held one bag.

“Amazing,” Marinette remarked, going as far as to clap.

Chloé took a dramatic bow.

It was ridiculous.

With the embarrassment fading from warm clothes and the comfortable setting of her bedroom, Marinette started to see the humour in the situation when Chloé sent her the video that she accidentally shot earlier. It showed the dog, a blur as Chloé turned around before witnessing Marinette falling over, frappé covering her body and face, staring blankly above her.

The dog licking her was captured, too.

It was just—

What was the luck that Chloé would be able to record that?

As it turned out, that wasn't the only lucky thing.

The following day had Marinette cursing her friend's name.

Chloé answered on the second ring. “What do you want?”

“You—” Marinette inhaled sharply. “You posted it?”

“Well, yeah,” was the confirmation.

Her voice was higher than usual. “_Why_?”

“It's funny,” Chloé replied, as though they were talking about the weather, not a terribly embarrassing moment. “You even laughed at it last night.”

“Yes, before you put it on the _internet_!” she lamented. “Why would you—there's no way you'd think that I'd be okay with this.”

Chloé sniffed. “It's a masterpiece and deserves to be appreciated.”

“No, it really doesn't,” she muttered.

“You look great,” Chloé said. “Your complexion's real creamy.”

Marinette hung up.

-x-

“This is the worst,” she whispered, placing her face in her hands, voice becoming muffled. “I want to die.”

Luka adjusted her wig. “Can you do that later? I want to get paid.”

“You're supposed to care about me,” Marinette complained.

“I'm my own number one,” he proclaimed. “Therefore, I need money.”

Her vision was a bit blurry when she lifted her head up to stare into the mirror. “I see how it is.”

Luka flicked her head. “You need to get your make-up on.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You calling me ugly, is that it?”

“Terribly,” he deadpanned. “You're the one that dolled up for the new poster. The kids are going to be disappointed if you don't live up to it—and that'll mean we'll get scolded for it.”

With a sigh, she reached for the make-up kit she'd put on the table. “I'm not getting paid enough for that.”

He clicked his tongue. “What? Wearing elf ears and dancing for gremlins isn't your dream?”

“They're called children,” she corrected. “Well, maybe not the dancing for them part. Dressing up as a elf seems like a good life choice.”

“You can't change your identity and live your life as an elf so no one will recognise you,” Luka told her, brushing his dark-coloured hair in the mirror, trying to make it presentable. “I doubt you want to wear a wig forever.”

She pulled a face at him in the mirror. “Maybe I'll just dye my hair.”

“I'll still know you're a meme.” He patted her shoulder. “Don't worry.”

She considered turning around to punch him.

To Marinette's horror, the video got a lot of views. She'd seen edited pictures of it, different text added to make it relatable to niche audiences, and each one was even worse than the last. The people that actually knew her repeatedly sent the new versions to her, expecting some sort of an reaction.

She ignored them.

It was only going to be worse after winter break was over.

She was utterly horrified from the sudden attention that she was getting. But it didn't have her name attached; it was just the video, the utterly defeated expression she was caught with when she was on her back with frappé all over her.

The dog was becoming a hit, too.

The owner had started posting more pictures of him online.

“Your blush isn't even,” Luka pointed out.

She glared at him.

It had seemed like a good idea to look cute in the beginning; to have on a nice wig, glue on the ears symmetrically, and put blush on her cheeks and nose, but after the first week of working in the shopping centre, it was far too much work for little pay.

But a kid had thrown a tantrum the previous week when she'd forgotten her ears, proclaiming that she can't really be an elf.

At least the outfit wasn't too bad. It was the same they wore the previous year.

While Luka hadn't opted for a wig, he still had the ears on and a little amount of make-up.

“I'll go check everything's set up,” he said, gesturing towards the door.

She saluted. “See you soon.”

The doors opened before he got there. Luka almost bumped into the newcomer, narrowly avoiding him with an awkward apology before he darted through the door, not looking back.

“Santa?” she called out.

He waved at her shyly and adjusted his terribly fake beard. “You can tell?”

“It's a bit obvious,” she mused, leaning closer to the mirror and patting more blush onto her nose. “You're the new stand-in, right?”

“I—yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I'm guessing you're an elf?”

Marinette grinned. “Yeah.”

“I don't really... know what I'm doing,” he started, taking a few steps further in, standing completely out-of-place in the middle of the dressing room. “Am I supposed to be worried about why the last guy quit?”

“He got sick,” she answered. “Can't have people coughing in kid's faces, you know? It'll give us a bad name.”

“...Right,” he said slowly.

The costume was too big for him. It was loose in all the wrong ways, sleeves falling over his hands, and the beard only brought out the yellowness of his actual hair that stuck out underneath the hat.

It looked like a terrible cosplay.

“First time?” she asked, just for conversation.

He reached out to touch the back of his neck. “First job.”

“Oh, rough,” Marinette said. “Try not to swear and it'll be fine. We'll be there with you the whole time.”

“We?” he questioned.

“Me and Luka,” she clarified. “The other elf that just ran out. He was leaving anyway, but your sudden entrance probably made him want to die.”

With a frown, he asked, “What did I do?”

“Exist,” she joked. Then, as she saw the widening of his green-coloured eyes, Marinette clarified, “No, nothing. He's just really shy.”

“So, you're the chatty one.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Can I know your name?” he asked, adjusting his fake beard that looked terribly itchy.

“Not going to call me elf?” she questioned. “It's Marinette.”

“Marinette,” he repeated with a smile. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Adrien.”

And when he moved his hand away, causing the beard to fall lopsided and show some of his jawline, she took a step forward. “You, too,” she said. “Can I help you fix that? You look really awful right now.”

“Please,” Adrien agreed with a sigh of relief. “I don't really know what I'm doing? I mean, I was just given this outfit and told to come in here.”

“It's normally to change in here,” she replied, gesturing to the tiny changing room behind her with her thumb. “If you come in tomorrow, we'll help you out.”

He smiled. “Really?”

“Sure,” Marinette said, going to the other side of him to tie the string of the beard again, tucking it into the collar of the obnoxious suit and trying to make him look a bit more presentable. “We've got to work together, right? Might as well make sure you look killer.”

“I think this is the ugliest I've looked in a while,” he said with a laugh.

Marinette hummed. “I don't know, this really shows off your body.”

“Oh, totally,” he mused. “All the sagging really brings out my ass.”

She laughed loudly.

The costume was as good as it was going to get. It didn't look as bad as it did on the last guy; but then again, the illness had made him look horrible against the bright red of the suit. Adrien was clearly swamped by all the fabric, the belt acting as the waistband, and the oversized beard and hat wasn't helping him much.

He looked like he was dressed in his parents' clothes.

Marinette finished primping, showing him her thumbs up in approval.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “What made you get this job? I mean, I hope it's not your dream job and I'm offending you or anything—I'd rather be lounging around at home than here.”

“I need the money.” She shrugged, not offended by his assumptions. “Why are you here, then?”

He scrunched up his nose. “Father made me.”

“Oh, right,” she recalled. “First job.”

“Yeah,” Adrien confirmed, adjusting the belt again before making sure the large trousers were tucked into his boots. “Apparently, staying in my room for days on end isn't exactly healthy.”

Marinette laughed. “Sounds fun, though.”

“It is,” he said. “I have my cat for company, so it's not like I'm _always_ alone—but that's not good enough, apparently.”

“Tough.” She patted his shoulder. “Let's have kids keep you company instead, right?”

He grimaced. “That doesn't sound fun at all.”

“For the most part, it isn't,” Marinette told him. “But you get a break every hour or so when we have to sing. Enjoy that while you can.”

“Sing?” he questioned.

Amused, she asked, “Didn't you read anything other than what you have to do?”

“Not really,” he sheepishly admitted. “I just—I was a bit too nervous to take it all in? I'm not exactly—I'm not very good with people.”

“Well, you seem pretty cool so far,” Marinette assured him. “We can come in here and cry together in our breaks. I'll try and be good company.”

The sound of the door opening made them both turn their heads.

Luka only looked at her as he popped in his head in to say, “We're setting up now.”

“Thanks, dude,” she called, but he'd already darted back out. She smoothed out her outfit, the ridiculous colours standing out against her skin, the blonde-coloured wig surely having the same effect. “Ready to go?”

He wetted his lips. “I guess.”

“That's the spirit,” Marinette praised, stepping forward and pushing the door open, stepping to the side and dramatically waving her arm to gesture for him to go first. “After you.”

He bowed on his way past. “So kind.”

She laughed.

-x-

The days passed pretty quickly.

She didn't have classes for a few weeks due to the holiday, and most of her time during the day was spent at the shopping centre. The money wasn't bad, the other employees were kind, and it was usually only the stressed parents that gave them any trouble.

Luka was terribly shy about singing in front of others, so he stuck to the portable keyboard, matching it up the music that played from him pressing a specific button. He'd messed up for a few times, but for the most part, the majority of the mess-ups weren't too bad, and Marinette's singing and little dance routine amused the children and made up for any blunders.

She'd gotten over her embarrassment when she'd gotten paid the previous year, but Luka wasn't going to think like that any time soon.

But once the short elf performance was over, the children were allowed through to stand in-queue and wait to see Adrien—who was sat upon a not-so-comfortable chair, letting children sit on his knee and tell him what they wanted.

He got less tense after a while.

Marinette and Luka were there to escort the parents and children to Adrien, standing there the entire time before leading them out, and then going back to repeat the process.

It was a stressful few hours.

But afterwards, when they went back to the dressing room to change back into their normal clothes, they were able to talk a little bit before Adrien left first.

“You're not actually blonde, are you?” Adrien questioned as she was taking off the abundance of blush from her face.

He'd already changed from the ridiculous costume, back into his well-fitting clothes, his own blond hair a mess and sticking up in a few directions, but it was very clear that he was actually attractive underneath all the extra layers.

“Are you trying to say this isn't real?” she asked, fingers going through the wavy strands. “Because I'm offended.”

“Next you'll be trying to say that the ears are,” he mused.

From the only dressing room, Luka called out, “The ears are very real!”

Adrien snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“It's true,” Marinette said, wiggling her fingers as she pointed at the elf ears she hadn't taken off yet. “I was born with these lovely ears that just don't match the rest of my skin. It's a curse, isn't it?”

“Totally,” he agreed, amused. “But you suit them well.”

She beamed. “Thanks, I spent ages trying to make them look pretty.”

“No wonder you always take so long to get undressed,” he quipped. Then, there was a brief look of horror as he realised what he'd said. “I didn't mean—”

She interrupted him with a laugh. “It's okay, I get it.”

“Right.” He ran a hand through his hair, actually able to do it once the large hat was gone. “I should—I've got to get going. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Marinette replied. “Bye, Adrien.”

“Bye,” he repeated. And on his way past, he called out, “Bye, Luka!”

Luka's answer came through when Adrien was already out the door.

“He's always so fast,” Marinette observed, turning back to the mirror and trying to take off the rest of her costume. “Do you think he actually likes us or he's being polite and running out at the first chance of freedom?”

“It could be both,” was his response. “I know I'd run away from you.”

She snorted. “I'm faster than you.”

“Yes, that's why it's a dream,” Luka wistfully said. “Do you think it'll ever come true?”

“No,” she replied. “I'll trip you if you ever try to.”

Luka sighed. “Being your friend is hard.”

“But you've been promoted to my _best_ friend,” Marinette replied, taking the wig off and pulling her own hair out of the bun she'd put it in. It had kinks, uneven waves that weren't usually there, and was sticking up in various places. “You should feel honoured.”

As he came out the dressing room, he muttered, “Only because Chloé made you into a meme.”

Marinette punched his arm lightly on her way in.

There seemed to be a trend of Adrien running in, almost late for their shift, bursting into the dressing room when Marinette was always putting the finishing touches on her outfit. But unlike the first, he'd started using the room to put on the suit, always relying on her to help him correct it, but she wasn't bothered by it.

He was easy to get along with.

And when they were finished, he bolted through the doors away, rushing off.

“You could stick around, you know,” Marinette said one morning when she was correcting his beard. “After, I mean. We'd love to hang out.”

“As honoured as I am, I kind of—I have a curfew?”

“I'm sorry,” she started, dubious. “But did you just say you have a curfew?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“...You're eighteen, aren't you?” she asked slowly, assuming that he was close to their age. After all, it was made very clear that they weren't going to hire a child to play Santa.

“Nineteen,” he shyly admitted. “I'm just—I'm kind of in trouble?”

“Okay,” she said, playing along. “And why is that?”

He mumbled his answer at first.

“What was that?” she asked. “I didn't hear you.”

“_Okay_,” Adrien exclaimed, a bit too loudly before he rubbed his face with his hand. It was lucky he wasn't wearing make-up, or it would've been smeared. “I might've... bought home a kitten without getting permission first.”

She blinked. “You—what?”

“That's why I'm here,” he admitted, embarrassment clear in his voice.“I just—I _really_ wanted one, okay? And my father was never going to agree, so I—”

Marinette choked out a laugh. “You bought one?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said, looking at her with a smile, his expression open and friendly, only the faintest bit of red on his ears showing that he was embarrassed at all. “I managed to hide him in my room for a few days before he escaped.”

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and stated, “My parents would murder me.”

He grinned. “Mine almost did.”

“Brave,” she remarked. “I admire your stupidity.”

“Honestly, this isn't so bad,” Adrien admitted, smoothing out his costume. “You and Luka are nice. I was expecting some—I don't know? I was told the worst things would happen by my friends, and I thought my father would pick the _worst_ thing.”

It was nice that they could like that with each other. The previous Santa had been okay to work with, but they didn't have much conversation during the day. And the one from last year had been quiet for the most part, barely talking to the children.

Adrien was shaping up to be the best yet, but she wasn't sure whether he would feel proud about knowing that.

She teased, “Glad we're not the worst.”

“I mean, spending my day with two pretty elves?” he mused, stroking his beard with a dramatic flair. “There's worse things I could do.”

She huffed. “I hope a kid pees on you.”

“I only get that warm and tingly feeling from you, sorry,” he quipped.

“I'll trip you over,” Marinette replied.

“You'll make me fall for you?” he asked, hand slipping from his face to his chest to place over his heart. “Oh, Marinette. You know just what to say.”

And as she was rolling her eyes, Luka opened the door to give them a few minutes' warning, telling them it was almost time.

“Ready to get 'em?” Marinette questioned, holding her arm out to him.

Adrien linked it through hers. “Sure,” he said. “Let's go, my lovely elf.”

“I stand corrected,” she said. “I hope a kid shits on you instead.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

-x-

The inevitable happened.

Chloé came to a performance.

She stood out beside all the young children, clapping slowly with a blank expression on her face, and Marinette just grinned, shooting her a wink before continuing on with the cheesy routine, not messing a step from the surprise.

And when it came time to escort the children to Adrien, Chloé was in the line.

“Yeah, no,” Marinette said, shaking her head. “There's literally a sign there that says no kids over thirteen.”

“I'm thirteen,” Chloé lied.

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, are you? You kids sure are growing up fast nowadays.”

“I want to meet him,” Chloé proclaimed, haughtily raising her chin.

She purposely replied, “You already know Luka.”

“Not that idiot.” Chloé waved her hand dismissively. “The sexy Santa.”

Aghast, she retorted, “I _never_ called him sexy—”

“It was implied,” Chloé said. “Now, let me sit on his lap and judge him. From here, all I can see are the wrinkles in his awful costume, and his face isn't exactly clear underneath that disgusting beard.”

She tried to enforce the rules. “I can't let you through—”

Chloé barged her way through anyway.

With a sigh, Marinette trudged after her, regretting the choice.

Luka looked amused. “Hey, Chloé.”

“Hello, elf,” was Chloé's greeting, but it was paired with a smile that showed her teeth. Then, without any trace of embarrassment, she promptly perched herself on Adrien's knee, turning to face him with a frown. “So.”

Adrien looked very startled. “I—hello?”

Chloé looked him up-and-down.

He was very bewildered. “I thought this was—was for only kids?”

“I'm mature for my age,” Chloé said.

“Her father's the mayor,” Marinette clarified. “She gets away with a lot of shit because of it.”

Luka made a noise for her to be quiet, wildly gesturing to the queue of children waiting not too far away.

She grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Chloé?” Adrien asked.

Chloé just frowned at him.

“Bourgeois, right?” he continued on, sounding contemplative. “I think—we used to play together? I mean, as kids.”

“I don't think so,” Chloé shot him down.

“No, really,” he insisted with a smile, not at all looking like he was making it up. “I'm—Adrien Agreste? You used to have this teddy bear that you just _wouldn't_ let me touch—”

“_No_,” Chloé interrupted, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I hated you!”

“I don't know about that,” Adrien said, sounding incredibly amused from her reaction. “You wanted to marry me at one point, so I couldn't have been that bad.”

Chloé got up onto her feet with a loud sigh. “Doesn't your father, like, own this trashy place?”

He grinned. “So?”

“So—”

As interesting as it was to see them talk, the noise from the waiting parents and children was getting louder; more joining, waiting for their turn and wondering why it was taking so long for someone who _wasn't_ their age to see Santa.

Marinette firmly grabbed Chloé's shoulders. “Sorry to interrupt, but we really have to get this going—”

“Pussy,” Chloé accused, letting herself be manhandled and taken to the exit, heels making noise along the way. “You're just jealous I know who he is.”

“I know he is,” she replied. “Well, not that his father's apparently loaded? For real?”

“Absolutely.” Chloé patted her hand before stepping away from her reach, straightening out her clothing. “Filthy rich and very, very rude. There's a reason I haven't seen Adrien for years.”

Not quite sure how to reply to that, all Marinette could come out with was, “Invite me to your wedding, will you?”

Chloé dramatically brushed her hair over her shoulder. “It'll be our wedding.”

“Nice proposal, but I need some time to think.” Marinette pointed over her shoulder, gesturing back to where she was needed. “I'm going back before I'm fired. You still coming over tonight?”

“Maybe,” Chloé said.

“Cool.” She beamed. “See you then!”

There wasn't much time to talk afterwards. Adrien had ducked into the dressing room first, as always, taking off the costume before stumbling out the door in a hurry, calling out his good-byes.

It was the following day when they were able to hold a longer conversation.

“So,” he started, still dressed in his normal clothes, holding the large costume in his arms. “I know your friend.”

“You do,” Marinette confirmed. “I heard a bit about it last night. Apparently, you used to be quite the menace—from Chloé's point of view, anyway. I'm sure that's not _completely_ true.”

Adrien's smile showed his dimples. “She was very annoying.”

She laughed. “Still is.”

“I didn't recognise her, honestly,” he admitted. “She—she's really grown up.”

“I'm sure you have, too,” Marinette pointed out. “Maybe without your beard, she would've realised it really was you or something. Then again, it has been _years_. Chloé tends to forget someone if she hasn't seen them for a few weeks.”

He clicked his tongue. “I guess I'm not memorable.”

“I'll try to remember you,” she assured him, holding up her hand and crossing her index and middle finger. “I swear.”

“I'll hold you to that for next year,” he told her.

She was surprised at that. “Next year?”

“Well, maybe,” he said, shifting the weight on his feet. “I mean—if I have the time, why not? But only if you two are doing it still. I don't think I'd want to do this with newcomers.”

Touched, she asked, “Still think you'll be forced to work?”

“Probably not,” Adrien admitted. “I just—I like spending time with you.”

That made her chest feel warm.

“And Luka,” he blurted. “Yeah.”

“That's good,” she said, tucking some stray hair behind her already attached elf ears. “You're—I like you, too. And so does Luka, which is always a good thing.”

There was a moment where they were just smiling at each other, surely looking ridiculous, before he asked, “Like me enough to tell me what your hair's like normally?”

She snorted. “Why don't you take a guess?”

“I don't know!” he exclaimed, going to throw a hand up in exasperation, but it caused the suit almost to fall to the floor. He fumbled to keep ahold of it, pulling it against his chest, before letting out a sigh. “I guess I should get dressed.”

“Sexy Santa time,” Marinette sang.

He struck a pose.

“Are you in university?” Adrien asked once he was in the dressing room, the rustling sound of clothes moving very prominent. “Since you're eighteen, right?”

“I am,” she confirmed, checking her make-up in the mirror and straightening her wig.

“Which do you go to?” he questioned.

She straightened her clothing. “Why do you want to know?”

“You look kind of familiar,” Adrien mused. “But, in the way I can't quite place it, you know?”

And when she said the name of her university, confirming that he didn't go to the same one, Marinette frowned and admitted, “I... might know why you think I'm familiar.”

“Oh?” he prompted.

“I'm guessing you like looking at memes, yeah?” Marinette blurted.

“Sure?” Adrien sounding confused. “I mean, who doesn't? It's always a good way to be amused.”

She scuffed her shoe against the floor. “I'm kind of a meme.”

The door creaked as he came out in his costume. “Eh?”

“Hang on,” Marinette said, begrudgingly getting her phone out of her bag and unlocking the screen. It was a short search until it popped up—the first result for the phrase—and she resented how popular it had gotten. “This one.”

It was hard to tell Adrien's complete reaction from underneath the beard.

When it started to play again, she locked the device, slipping it back into her bag.

“So,” she started, still awaiting a response. “Either I've made a complete fool of myself, or you've already seen that.”

“I—I've seen that,” he answered, clearing his throat. “You're... the one in the video?”

“Yes,” Marinette confirmed, lifting up her hands and shaking them with a flair. “My greatest moment, right?”

“No you're—” Adrien started, taking a step forward and almost tripping over because he hadn't tucked his trousers into his boots yet. “That wasn't your fault.”

She blinked. “It kind of was? I was carrying too much.”

“This...” Adrien trailed off, reaching off and taking off his hat. “I'm so sorry.”

Bewildered, all she could say was, “What?”

“I'm the guy that bumped into you,” he blurted. Then, without giving her time to reply, or even process completely what he'd said, he rambled on, “I didn't—I wasn't paying attention and you fell over. I really wanted to try and help, or even pay for new clothes or something, but your friend just wanted me to leave, and—oh, no, _that_ was Chloé?”

There wasn't any traces of resentment for him.

Sure, when it had first happened she'd been mortified and was so close to crying, barely able to see the guy's face—but to know that it was Adrien?

She wasn't mad.

“It was Chloé,” she confirmed.

He swallowed. “That's all you've got to say?”

Marinette smiled. “I'm not going to chew you out, if that's what you're expecting. I mean, I'm not happy that my misery is plastered all over the internet, but it'll die eventually.”

“But it's my fault,” he insisted.

She shrugged. “Both of ours, honestly.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Why aren't you angry at me?”

“Because—”

With the interruption of Luka, they had to rush outside. Adrien tucked his trousers into his boots when he was sat down, Marinette tucking his stray hairs into his hat while he did so, and Luka adjusted the beard to not look ridiculous again.

It was a joint effort.

There wasn't any time to talk while the parents and children were there.

She did keep catching Adrien looking at her, but he didn't look away in embarrassment when he was caught; rather, he smiled, and she was sure that it was showing his dimples underneath the beard.

She beamed right back at him.

Luka jabbed her with his elbow at one point, giving her a pointed look.

She just shrugged.

And when it was all finished, Adrien didn't dart out of the door after he'd changed first.

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” Marinette asked, most of her make-up off. “You're normally running out of here in terror.”

Adrien had his hands in his pockets. “I think I'll deal with his tyranny for a bit today.”

“A lot to break down in that sentence, but let's skip that,” she mused. “You're staying?”

“I'd like to take you up on that offer,” he said. “To hang out after, if it's still open?”

“You—”

Her words were interrupted by Luka exclaiming, “Oh, definitely! You two can go somewhere else and flirt.”

Marinette snorted. “What? Fed up with being the third wheel already?”

“Horribly,” Luka replied. “But I'll stick around to take your outfit home and wash it.”

“So kind,” she praised.

Adrien looked terribly amused from the exchange. “He does your laundry?”

“His turn,” Marinette clarified. “I did it last week.”

“That's a good system,” he remarked.

It was the first time that Adrien had stuck around long enough for her to change clothes, and he'd still never been early enough to meet them when they were dressed normally.

She bundled up the elf costume and tossed it over the top, trying to aim it somewhere near them.

“Thanks,” Luka blurted. “Bye.”

The sound of the door closing came quickly after that.

Adrien burst out into laughter first. “He _ran_.”

“He's a traitor,” Marinette muttered, pulling on her normal clothing. “He didn't even check that you're not murdering me. Talk about being a bad friend.”

“You'd deserve it,” he pointed out. “All you've done is insult and abuse me.”

“Excuse you?” she exclaimed. “You're not the one that got frappé in your hair.”

He snorted. “You got a bit on my shoes.”

“Bitch, I hope I got more on you.”

His laughter was nice to hear.

Carefully putting the wig in her bag, she stood up and faced herself in the mirror, trying to smooth her hair down a little, wanting to make a good impression. But when it was sticking up awfully, she pulled it into a high ponytail instead.

It was with a deep breath that she opened up the door.

Adrien was perched on the vanity, one foot on the stool where she usually sat.

“Get your foot off there,” she scolded.

He looked at her in surprise, standing up. “I—hi.”

“Hello,” she greeted, a bit amused by his reaction. “If you get that seat dirty, I'll kick you.”

“A heavy threat from such a small person,” he mused.

She huffed. “Not my fault you tower over me.”

“You're cute,” he said. “Even cuter without the ears and blonde hair.”

Marinette beamed. “And without frappé in my hair?”

“Definitely,” Adrien confirmed.

“That's always good to hear,” she replied.

They ended up in one of the nearby cafés within the shopping centre. It was less than a week until Christmas, meaning all the shops were busy, but they were able to claim a table, Adrien offering to get her drink for her.

She didn't say no.

It was a bit noisy, but she was able to hear him clearly when he scooted his chair closer. They hadn't been able to get a spot on a sofa, instead the two of them on uncomfortable chairs, but she wasn't going to complain too much about it.

He'd turned his phone off as soon as he'd settled down.

“Sure this is worth getting in trouble for?” she questioned, giving his phone a pointed look.

He sheepishly put it into his back pocket. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I'm you're certain,” she started. “I don't—I really don't want to be the reason you get shouted at.”

“It's fine,” Adrien assured her. “One night can't be too bad, right? I've been good for ages—plus, I'm already doing this job without crying about it. I can't be that much of a disappointment.”

She took a sip of her drink instead of replying to that.

Adrien ran a hand through his hair. “Are you sure you're not mad at me?”

“I'm not,” she told him, using both hands to hold her mug. “You're—you didn't do it on purpose, right? So, it's fine.”

“I still feel bad,” he admitted.

“You paid for my drink,” she pointed out. “That's more than enough.”

He still didn't look pleased. “Not enough.”

“Chloé bought me a new outfit after, so that's sorted, too,” Marinette said. “I really kind of zoned out. I wouldn't have known it was you.”

“I wouldn't lie to you,” he blurted. “I—I felt really bad whenever I saw the meme.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“Can I make it up to you somehow?” Adrien asked.

“Knowing you're actually nice is enough,” Marinette replied, carefully putting the drink down. “I don't think I could sleep at night if I thought you were laughing behind my back about it.”

“Marinette,” he said, drawing out the last syllable and looking at her with an exaggerated pout. “You're—you're being too nice. I really want to do something for you.”

She wetted her lips. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yes!”

“Well,” she started, pausing to muster up the confidence. “I hope I'm not being too forward, but would you—would you like to go out sometime?”

“You mean like a date, right?” Adrien asked, shifting in his seat. “Please, tell me if I'm reading this wrong—”

“You're not,” she interrupted. “I do—I do mean like a date.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “I—yeah. I'd love that.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, a bit lost on what exactly to say. “Okay, cool.”

Adrien beamed. “Okay.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you copying me?”

“Maybe,” he replied, amused.

She huffed. “Rude.”

“Can I get your number?” he asked. “That'll probably be a lot easier for us to talk, especially if I get locked up in a tower or something for staying out late.”

“I'll break you out,” she said, getting out her phone. “It's my fault you're here.”

Adrien joked, “Karma's getting to me for knocking you over, I suppose.”

“Oh, that's true,” Marinette agreed. “I hope you enjoy your suffering. I won't post it on the internet, though.”

He laughed. “How nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com/) ♥(*¯︶¯*)


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